


The lines that connect us.

by mols



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Remix, Sibling Incest, Soulmates AU, Wincestiel - Freeform, world war ii au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-17 16:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mols/pseuds/mols
Summary: Team Free Will live through Second War being all soulmates of each other through Dean's eyes and experiences.





	The lines that connect us.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rivkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Secondhand Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601068) by [rivkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/pseuds/rivkat). 



> I'd like to thank @kisahawklin for betaing and helping me with English (not my native language) and plot structure in general. This fic isn't exactly "finished" because I had too many ideas, so I'll try to finish and get betaining the parts my beta didn't see because I wrote after they had helped me xD

[INTRO]

  
Dean had never found any inscription on his body, ever. Even during the times he had tried - and he had _really_ tried - he didn’t find anything _anywhere_. He’d spend hours in the shower, trying to find the words, trying to find even a little scrawl that would mean he wasn’t some kind of freak that was doomed to stay forever alone, to never find a lover: someone who would love him so deeply, like he would them, and that they’d even be willing to give their own lives for his own, the same way he’d too. But he never found anything, no first words of any kind, which meant no soulmate to utter them. There was nothing on his skin or so he thought.  
  
So after awhile, he stopped looking. It had already been decided for him, it was his fate. There was nothing he could do to change that. Now it was about accepting this and let it behind - as much hard as it could be. He should be glad enough to have the love and company of his little brother, and he was - if family wouldn’t be there for him, who would? He didn’t need a lover, of course not. He had everything he needed and he should be thankful. His childhood wasn’t perfect but he had a special person who shared the small and special things and discovers of life with him.

It took years and his whole childhood to return to the subject again. It just happened when he found himself in the Army. Much like an obligation – and it mostly just felt like it, a moral obligation - there was nothing but “love” for the country in the officers’ speeches, love to their families and themselves - if they wanted to keep their own freedom, a right for free; not that war wasn’t the price for their own freedom, the soldiers’ freedom, but they were just a little part of the American society. Many people would stay in the country, working in other ways to the war machine: producing supplies or keeping the natal economy up, for the rest to live the rest of their lives, in the case of elders, or the beginning, for the so young children.

Not that Dean didn’t believe in what he was doing or he had no pride to fight back Japan, for example, which attacked his country first. Dean had always been a fighter and he always tried to do his best and defend who couldn’t defend themselves. The only problem was that he was in a really complicated time in his life; he was trying to accept and deal with the fact that he felt all alone since Sam started bit by bit distance himself from him, furthermore he had never fit so well as Sam had at school. Besides, he had been through and through the war when he made his mind in that very sceptical and practical way about the whole process that was war. Even after the camps, and then after the bombs in Japan. He knew there were a lot of motivations that weren’t good, that a war, especially from the camps’ perspective, was the worst thing a human being could project.  
  
Either way, Dean could’ve never imagined finding such discoveries in the Army, between the so manly men that would go to fight the biggest war the world has ever witnessed, against those disgusting Nazis and their Asian allies – besides the Italians, who were very much forgotten.  
  
It all started when Dean’s platoon was presented to their new second lieutenant. It was exactly at first sight! He felt deeply attracted to (t)his beautiful and composed lieutenant, owner of two beautiful big blue hues, transparent and light as the seas surrounding faraway tropical islands. Dean had met him when they were about to be shipped to England – or to the Pacific theater - to go to war as his dad had brought him up to. Because Dean grew up with this idea, to turn into some kind of life saver at some point, having in mind that he should do something after being a factor - at least for himself - in his mom’s death in a car accident. He had witnessed every single drop of blood falling from her forehead over the wheel, he still could imagine it vividly to that day. The memories always came back to haunt him because if he hadn't been sick, if it hadn't been for him, she would be alive, taking care of Sammy while he went to war as any other civilian of the required age and physical fitness.  
  
Before Castiel, Dean had thought he would never love anybody else as much as he loved his younger brother, what he did more than he should – and Dean knew it almost since forever, as he realized how he felt about Sam, how special he felt about his brother. There were times in which they exchanged some kisses sometime before the war, thinking it all was a joke and for no reason but to pass the time; while deep down, Dean knew that the only love they knew was from each other since dad was never present when they needed him the most. When Dean got to the Army, and then the war, he knew what it was and it wasn’t just brotherhood.  
  
Between Castiel’s arms, his Captain by the time they were in the middle of European occupied territory, he could understand, and stop denying to himself that his love for his brother was very similar - if not identical - to the love he had for Castiel. The passion he felt for him, the need, the love he felt to touch Cas and draw himself into the curves of his body. It was all too familiar, even though different since he had never lay down with Sammy, he had been too young – he would never! Besides, Castiel was very different from Sammy, selfless, generous, understanding.  
Not that Sammy was always selfish, but Sammy hadn't been raised like him, like Dean, and probably Castiel as well. Sammy was protected from the rough edges. Of course he took a lot for granted; although he’d come to realize how much Dean had given up for the wellbeing of him and their dad. It took time and distance for Sam to realize what Dean had been to him and for the both of them while John was out of reach. When Dean got a job or when Dean was ordered by their father to take care of Sam when Dean could just go out and let Sam by himself sleeping.

  
  
-

  
  
Dean didn’t like to give much thought to his own feelings, especially not when they were about charming male fictional figures that he was supposed to look at as an inspiration, not as a target of affection and subtle romantic desire from his side. Either way he thought about that, though, he had his own tastes and he wasn’t really fighting them.  
  
He was definitely very into story-telling, particularly radio soap operas - especially adventurous ones, while he had a soft spot to romantic narratives led by strong and appealing characters. After a while, it came Hollywood movies, like It Happened One Night and Gone with the Wind; Clark Gable was his favorite.

He got to know several of those shows while at home with Sammy alone; the two of them sat together on the red living room carpet in front of the big rounded radio, listening in silence and curiosity to the last adventures in one of their favourite shows. Many times those shows, those stories ended up being their bedtime stories. Dean listened to them every night, sometimes repeating the lines to himself until he memorized them, so he could keep them with him even when the radio was silent.  
  
Dean also liked to listen to cooking broadcasts. At first, the shows were used out of necessity after a quite lucky discovery. During one of those nights when John fell asleep, drunk, listening to the radio as if looking for an (unrealistic and grotesque) answer for all they had been through: Mary’s death, the very first few years before the Depression struck hard on Americans’ households, the fact that they were just the three of them while John couldn’t deal with all the responsibility by himself, taking care of the kids, working, doing the chores... while Sam and Dean hadn’t had dinner yet.

Sam was very quiet as he moved his token over the board after rolling the dices. After a while, Dean noticed Sammy sighing and bending his head onto the floor by the corner of his eye.  
  
“Dean, I’m hungry…” Sammy whined, pulling the old green t-shirt helm of his brother. They were lay down on the living room’s carpet, listening to the radio and lazily playing Monopoly to pass the time.  
  
Dean didn’t look at him - it pained him to see his brother sad and hungry. It also felt frustrating to have to find an answer to their problems so quickly, because the consequences were just right there, like his brother’s hunger. He tried to plan a solution for their mutual need anyway. They couldn’t keep eating cornflakes the whole day. It wasn’t healthy, nor did it feed them well, and He couldn't let his brothers health slipt.  
  
So he caught himself listening to the radio’s commercials before coming back to the air a cooking broadcast, which then he started listening carefully as his own stomach started growling threatening.  
  
He shot a very fast glance, a glimpse over his shoulder to Sammy, not really seeing him:  
  
“I have an idea,” he said, and walked into the kitchen. “Call me when it gets back from commercials.”  
  
Dean ran and quickly collected all the ingredients he could find that the lady on the radio had just listed. He put them all on the kitchen table and looked at them carefully, trying to see if he had forgotten anything.  
  
“Dean!” Sam yelled.  
  
Dean ran to him, trying to grab all the ingredients and bring them with him.  
  
“Quick, Sammy, take the notepad.”  
  
Sam nodded eagerly and took a notepad and pen over from a side desk beside the couch.  
  
They sat side by side listening to the recipe's instructions as Sam took notes of the measurements. Dean could hear and sense that hunger was still acting on him by tv quiet whines and the rumble of his stomach, but Dean tried to ignore them in order to take care of the problem. 

They made a mess of the kitchen and dirtied and messed a lot of the home appliances and the wooden furniture, but they were even able to eat what they produced. Dean passed the whole night trying to clean everything, before his dad was wide awake again, at the same time he was even able to be proud for a second for what he had been able to make.  
  
It didn’t turn out very well that first time, but soon he was able to do a couple of simple dishes.  
  
After that, he got used to listening to the broadcast and writing down recipes just for the fun of it. Bit by bit, he started making real meals for them when dad wasn’t available. He even ended up cooking for all three of them, after a couple of test runs and John’s approval.  
  
With time, he realized how preparing food started feeling good, especially when he started experimenting with and improve the recipes.  
  
Sam used to genuinely cheer when dad let Dean make their meal instead. He used even to say Dean had a natural talent all the time he tasted a new meal. Dean didn’t believe him very much - in himself, but he was happy that Sam liked his food and that he was able to feed the both of them.  
  
Dean also learnt how to do the many house chores with that same broadcast. Dad indeed made most of the house chores, he wasn’t all that bad, he was mostly just a sad man, Dean told Sam once when his younger brother was getting older, more aware of things. Sam didn’t seem to agree or take his point entirely. Sam actually “antagonized” John, in how he let things go to the way they were. How Dean bit by bit came to be as responsible for himself as for dad and him, Sam. Dean didn’t see it like that during the time. He used to think Sam was too harsh on dad.

  
  
-

  
  
As Dean got older, his habits and pastimes evolved with the increasing popularity of hollywood movie productions and the consequences of the Depression era in the 30’s. Through the radio, he found out about cinema and movie theaters, and the prices of movie tickets, besides a part time job to add income to the household. At night he started fleeing to the nearest movie theaters to watch and rewatch his favourite Hollywood movies whenever he could. They were such a new and revolutionary kind of entertainment that he never got tired of them! He loved them very, very much. His eyes shone and his heart beat faster each time a movie started with some drums based opening.

Sometimes he even dragged Sam with him, so his little brother could understand his passion and also enjoy this new way of seeing storytelling. Good thing was that as older as Sam got, he got more and more quiet when it came to watch to understand the plot instead of questioning Dean about anything apparently odd that didn’t seem to make sense in the known context. Dean also loved to see how overwhelmed and speechless Sam seemed to get every time something bright and incredible happened on the screen; it felt like he had given Sam a special and early birthday gift.

With growing, it also came discovers and fears they had never felt before. As they barely knew anybody and they were always traveling and moving out from schools, the only reference and people they could turn to in case of fear, anxiety and other emotions were each other. And when they reached puberty, both of them had very little idea of what was happening and how fast things should go: like the body hair growth seemed to go too slow, their voices were changing and they made fun of each other a lot - at the same time they were both insecure about these changes - they were getting hard while sleeping and etc.

Sam was 16 when they exchanged their first kiss in the middle of a hormonal wrestling match. It all started as a fake fight filled with laughter and teasing while sprawled together on the ground. When they came to themselves, especially Dean who was older and over his brother, they got to realize they were kissing. They were kissing while hands grasped t-shirt and Sam’s hands were around Dean’s ears. Dean gave Sam some last wet pecks before pulling away, startled at himself and the other.

It took an year, though, for it to get frequent for them to make out during nights out. Dean used to think - and then systematically try to ignore - it was too wrong and Sam, in his rebellious teen years, seemed to find it funny until he realized how strong they felt for each other. Until then, they tried to ignore anything or any idea that what they were doing wasn’t exactly right.

But the breaking point just came one chill day of Fall. They had been inside the whole day and they were bored to death by the time the sun was setting and the sky was purple golden, so Dean did as he always did and dragged Sammy out of home with himself. It was cold enough outside and pleasant warm enough inside to make a teenager has doubts about going outside, but Dean had his own tricks to make his brother get out of home.

They headed to the movie theater they used to go to, the place they were the most comfortable in and where entertainment was guaranteed. There they also found spots to be let alone and enjoy the things they knew had to be done hidden. Like expressing their relationship in completeness and kissing was something they got used to express feelings and sensations they just got to know in the last few months. Sharing kisses under the shadows of a dark room barely illuminated by the movie screen or under the dark shadows projected by the city lights under the dark sky. It was what they were doing in the middle of a movie session and after, in a more empty room in the same floor of the building.

They kissed carelessly as they knew none came inside too further to notice them. Dean hands wandered down and up Sam’s back as Sam held Dean’s head, under his brother’s body. Nothing seemed to matter when they were wrapped around each other, covering each other in warmth and protection.

“Damn,” Dean let out as his kisses went down Sam’s jaw while Sam panted and breathed profusely under him.

Everything seemed fine and perfect, but Dean was starting feeling how Sam was stilling under him - although he was trying to ignore it, because Sam was still caressing and combing his hair.

“Dean, you love me, right?” Sam asked once, while Dean was preoccupied kissing down his neck, pressing Sam back against a couple of seats.

“Yeah, of course,” Dean said, his voice muffled against his brothers neck.

Sam whined low in his throat and didn't say anything for a while.

Dean took a minute before looking up, his hair mussed and in disarray after he had been nesting on his brother's shoulder.

“What?”

Sam shook his head and turned his head aside. He was hiding something and it seemed to be eating him up inside.

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean straightened his back, trying to make Sam’s eyes meet his, but Sam kept avoiding them anyway.

“It’s…” Sam started.

“It’s--?”

Sam shook his head again and sat up before his brother. He looked back at Dean and reached to Dean’s arms, curling his fingers around the inner part of his elbows. His hands lingered there, squeezing for a few seconds before pulling away, sighing.

“It’s...You know that wasn’t supposed to happen,” he lowered his head, his eyes were getting redder and redder around the edges. “Dean, you saw how the kids looked at us. They were--”

Sam stopped abruptly, looking aside, avoiding Dean’s eyes again. Dean knew that he was about to cry - if he let himself. Dean had no idea what to say. Sam was right, of course he was. He had been ashamed and feeling guilty for quite a while, but then it felt...natural? It felt like everything he needed, the two of them together, pressed together and sharing body heat.

“Tell me,” he said dryly. He knew, he had seen how those kids had grimaced when they caught them, around a corner on the back side of the cinema building.

Sam sniffed, sighing.

“Disgusted.”

Dean nodded, backing up. His eyes were pinned to the ground as he tried to swallow the shame he felt, the fear and the guilt he also felt making its way into his heart, poisoning it. It wasn’t disgusting, right? It had never felt disgusting when only the two of them knew about it. Although they hadn't known any acquaintance, family friend or even fictional character that dated their siblings, it didn’t seem disgusting to them, even when they knew others found it like that. They knew it was supposed to be wrong for all people - even when for what reason they couldn’t tell; but they had never really heard about the subject in a way that they felt recognizable through it.

“You want us to stop?”

Sam didn’t answer. Dean looked up. Sam was still fighting the urge to cry. It seemed to be hard to connect, love and intimacy, that kind of intimacy they had, those caresses exchanges they had. Love was supposed to be pure and the way they touched and saw each other, and felt about each other: it wasn’t kids stuff, it wasn’t pure like angels and kisses on the cheek or one or two pecks after visiting their loved ones.

Dean was going to ask again when Sam stopped him by pressing a finger on Dean’s lips.

“Please, can we give it some time?” Sam finally answered.

So Dean gave Sam some time, and they never quite got back to where they were. Of course they were brothers; they helped and fought each other, fought other people for each other but Sam seemed to fear what contact would stir from them, so they barely touched each other, much less hugged. So Dean thought it was all over for them, that Sam had decided that there was no coming back, that the right thing was what they were now, what they were not doing now.

With the distance came the feeling of solitude and the recurrent sensation of emptiness, then. At least for Dean, who was loyal to his routine and a little averse to change. Also because he had an unique and intimate relationship with his brother, which was hard to emulate with others, with strangers.

Even before Sam had decided to go to college, when dad was obligated by medical conditions to settle down, which led them to live more like the others, to attend the same school, the same shops, the same buses everyday.

Sam seemed to find comfort in this, Dean not so much. Change was a constant in their lives, of course, but they were together since forever, they had shared too many days and nights. It was harder to get used to, to Sammy to be away more than to be with him in their home.

When Dean informed his family he had enlisted to go out in combat overseas, though, Sam suddenly stormed out of the living room where the family was gathered to his own, letting the door hit loudly against the doorframe.

Dean remembered the next day pretty well, the day after he had informed his family he was going out to a training camp in a few days since he had just enlisted.

It was still Summer of 41, the curtains and the wooden floor were painted with a very hot and liquid golden light provided by the sun rays.

The day was hotter than ever, a couple of hours after lunch time. Dean felt the sweat gathering over his skin, the short bangs attaching to his forehead as he walked through the house.

Sam had been avoiding him the whole day until then, when Dean knocked on Sam's door, who was incredibly not at one of his friends house. Probably because he had been outside the whole morning long.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, retracting his hand.

Nobody answered. Dean waited a minute and then pushed the door, finding a very quiet room with Sam lay down aside, in a summer clothes reading a book or pretending to while the other side of the bed was covered on sunbeams.

It took the time of a long and intentional intake of breath for Sam to answer. He was purposely trying to ignore Dean.

“What do you want?” Sam asked, dryly but somehow showing in his quiet and hoarse voice tiresome and fragility, besides the very obvious childishness of a spoiled child he didn’t let show most of the time.

Dean looked at him, then at the window on other side. They couldn’t leave it like this, not now.

“To know if we are alright.” He needed to know before he went away.

Sam kept in silence again.

“Why do you care?”

Dean frowned, turning his head back. He was suddenly a bit speechless. His mouth gaping and then closing as he swallowed thickly, not knowing how to back that.

“You had already decided to go, so go,” Sam added, sighing and rolling on the bed as if he was nervous and in discomfort.

“I know,” Dean answered, “I’m going as soon as I can.”

Dean kept staring at Sam, confronting him silently, feeling his cheeks burning but ignoring it. He felt like Sam needed to react in a better way to him going, telling Dean at least something that meant Sam was good with him before he went away for maybe not even coming back ever more.

Sam didn’t say anything, instead he just rolled a page from his book.

Dean shifted his glance and rolled his eyes, sighing. He turned aside to go out when Sam talked again.

“Close the door when you go.”

Dean rolled his eyes again and went out.

He couldn’t oblige Sam to be nice to him, to show that he cared about Dean.

And that was the last time they talked straightforward about the subject. After that, they barely said good morning and good night before Dean was riding a train to the camp.

  
  
-

  
When Castiel was presented to him, Dean almost didn’t have the breath to reply or to react, but of course – and thank God – and he replied to his Officer, sloppy as it could be but he did. His hand raised to his forehead, trying his best to not shake much.  
  
Castiel frowned a bit but nodded and “At ease.” Something like a smile shone from those calm and reassuring blue eyes.  
  
They exchanged a brief glance and Cas nodded again, walking along the line.  
  
Dean could barely look at him again. He was sweating cold with the presentation. Was it possible? To feel such an emotion being unable to feel like others, gifted to belong and connect, to have a fit pair? Weren’t people without the words unable to feel like this? As if something bigger than themselves were being displayed to them, warming their hearts in a way that led to comfort and reassurance? Besides anxiety and longing?  
  
He couldn’t know, he had never talked to someone in depth about the subject, his main reference had always been the radio, and maybe his younger brother.  
  
Of course, the next days turned to be days of observance. While Dean made his own tasks and followed his own routine, keeping going about his own duties, he liked to watch the lieutenant working, talking to the other officers; walking, being.  
  
Mostly Castiel was quiet and only brought the attention to himself to stand up for his men when they were treated poorly by another commanders and even received himself the punishment other officers wanted to give to his soldiers when they didn’t do anything to deserve it.

He was a good man, it wasn’t hard to discover. A good man, but he was still kind of awkward socially speaking.  
  
Cas barely drank or talked about girls. He mostly stayed quiet during lunch and dinner times, seeming to watch the soldiers, their talking and their ways. Dean felt his body burn every time the crystalline blue eyes landed on him for any reason, they were so beautiful and honest, and Castiel had such a great and strong posture.  
  
Dean also had a hard time talking when Castiel was present and when he did, he felt his whole body shuddering under those eyes. He even stuttered when he realized the eyes coming to him; he wanted so much to say something smart but Castiel didn’t seem to pick up movie lines, and even if he did Dean couldn’t know.  
  
When he met Castiel alone to pass forward a message, he felt equally overwhelmed by Castiel’s physical presence but when Castiel smiled to him and looked so friendly, Dean felt such a boost of confidence as if he had done something good and Cas trusted him to keep going. He felt himself on the peak of a mountain, trying to not disappoint when Castiel seemed to have such a faith on him.  
  
One of those nights, Castiel recalled Dean inside:  
  
“Sergeant Winchester.”  
  
Dean looked around, nervous. Nodding and holding his cap, he headed back inside.  
  
“I’d like to talk to you.”  
  
And so Dean obliged, closing the door behind himself. He felt his whole body shaking or almost there.  
  
Slowly he turned around to Castiel, who was smiling. Dean had no idea why he was smiling so he instinctively went to check his clothes. He loved to eat and when he did, sometimes he dirty his clothes.  
  
Castiel chuckled. “There’s nothing with you.”

He walked closer to Dean, in a very measured pace.  
  
“You know who I am, don’t you?” Castiel continued, blinking, peacefully looking.  
  
“Y-yes, Sir?”  
  
Castiel smiled, light-hearted.  
  
“You don’t remember the words?”  
  
Dean looked at him, he blinked. He shifted his eyes, as if trying to get deeper inside his head, trying to dig his memory to remember the words, what they meant, if they meant anything of import.  
  
He shook his head confused. He had no idea what was he supposed to remember.  
  
“You’re my soulmate, Dean,” Castiel said, more serious.  
  
Dean’s green eyes went wide as he looked back at Castiel in confusion and fear. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t supposed to be anyone's soulmate. He had no words, no sentences. He was doomed to be forever by himself, bearing his solitude as his only possible fate.  
  
Castiel seemed to relax so physically and audibility, that Dean looked back at him. His lips parted.  
  
“You didn’t know,” Castiel stated, confused himself.  
  
Dean shook his head, frowning.  
  
Castiel offered his hand, restraining himself from reaching out for Dean, closing his hand in a fist very slowly.

“Look at me, Dean,” Cas said, seriously.

Dean just looked for an instance, and what he glimpsed was Castiel tugging his shirt and showing his collarbone, his words in black: Y-yes, Sir.  
  
“Take my hand,” he ordered.  
  
Dean looked up to him, startled.

“It isn’t an order, soldier, but it can be.”  
  
Both of them chuckled. Dean slowly reached for Castiel’s hand, he felt his body shuddering violently and warmth spreading across his body. It felt home, it felt like coming back home for the second time.  
  
It meant that he could have been at home before, in this way, too.  
  
Dean was then took out of his thoughts as Castiel tugged his closer by pulling Dean by the nape and made their lips meet, hard.

It felt so right! It had felt as right just like only another time.

Dean’s eyes were still closed when Cas pulled away and started overthinking a bit his former actions.

“I know I’m your CO--”

“I don’t care,” Dean said, breathing in deeply Cas’ scent, of his office too so he could be reminded of them all when he felt the need of something good to recall, to distract him from the things he probably would see in combat.

“Dean…”

“I don’t care, Sir.” Dean opened his eyes, staring back at a serious Castiel, “You’re my soulmate.”

“Yes,” Cas answered, as if he were the NCO. Dean smiled. Cas blushed at the teasing grin.

“So why the fuck someone can say anything about us?”

Cas looked up and let out a twist of lips, in a very shy and fugacious smile.

“Don’t say ‘fuck’ to your superior, Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but complied:

“Yes, Sir.” Saluting in a mocking way, although he didn’t mean actual disrespect.

“Dismissed,” Cas shot a glance at him and walked over to his desk as Dean walked to the door.

“Yes, siiir.” He chuckled to himself as he closed the door behind his back.

  
-

  
  
After a couple of first awkward intimate encounters, they fell together very quick, just like it was written on their skin and maybe somewhere else, in another dimension in which they could have been created.

It was also Castiel who discovered his inscriptions.  
  
Inside and bucked in an old european house, Dean found himself lay down on his belly as Castiel touched him between the legs, his thumb pressing against and rubbing his most hidden hole.  
  
War was still going on, but there were these still moments in which they tried to forget every wound, every death in each other’s warm, live body.  
  
He whined under his breath as he felt the thumb teasing and making it ticklish. It all wasn’t something that was supposed to happen but it nonetheless felt good, felt amazing.  
  
His eyes rolled back into his skull as Castiel touched him, in his comfortable silence. Just between his arms Dean felt possible to shut up and to grunt against a faded coloured pillow while his reared ass was touched, smoothly by the other.  
  
“Dean,” Cas asked, parting the asscheeks.  
  
“Mhm?”  
  
“Ther--”  
  
Dean interrupted him with an yelp and a scream as his fists closed around some sheets.  
  
“Oh, fuck.” Dean’s eyes were screwed together as he felt himself throbbing.

The sound of Cas’ chuckle resonating against his back came not longer after, making him more ticklish and distracted to care about their supposedly former subject.  
  
It would be just after they were lay down together, cuddling the much time they could that Cas informed him:  
  
“Your inscriptions,” he kissed Dean on the shoulder, “They are between your asscheeks.”  
  
At that, Dean laughed out loud. That was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard but then, it was very possible to be true. Cas barely joked and when he did, he didn’t about _these_ kind of things.  
  
“Fuck, really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Castiel made a pause, seemingly to be thinking hard about it, “There is more than one.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
The realization came bit by bit to be formed and understood inside his mind.

He should have known, shouldn’t he? He loved his brother. He loved Castiel. He had that kind of heart, that big kind of heart that fit both of them. He just could hope Cas could understand that. He didn’t want to lose him, nor did he want to lose his brother.  
  
He used to say that he wasn't really queer, that a man sometimes just found comfort in the arms of the people available in a place like this one, actually in a war situation like this one. However, it was wrote on his ass, on his skin. He loved a man and he couldn't hide it from the man himself, either.  
  
“What’s the other inscription?”  
  
Cas hummed, looking down, pulling away before tugging Dean’s asscheeks apart again, which made Dean yielp once more, ticklish, “Hey!”.  
  
“Dim,” he said, “I had never called you that, had I?”  
  
No, he hadn’t. Dean knew who had, though.  
  
A long time ago little Sammy had showed him the inscriptions on his wrist. At the time, he hadn't made much of that, the longer inscription was too cheesy to be his. Something about his eyes being beautiful, as the first words one of his soulmates would say; but by his own experience brothers would never start their relationship so affectionate, so serious, so romantic. He could have thought that one of them were his, because the second inscription was simple and neutral, but Dean didn’t particularly remember the words, and he certainly didn’t remember having said them.  
  
He wondered if Sammy had both of them as his soulmates. If the three of them were supposed to be in an unique and entire relationship. Deep inside, he hoped so because it seemed a dream come true, even though there were still doubts about everything in their lives, including their soulmarks not matching. Sometimes people didn’t fit together, one had the lines, the other had others' lines; sometimes one simply didn’t have any. On the other hand, Dean didn’t want to take anything for granted either, because his relationship with Sam was unconventional and Sam didn’t want them to keep going. At least, he seemed to be dealing a lot better with the distance than Dean.

Thinking about it, Dean recalled Castiel had his soulmarks on his collarbones in really tiny script. Maybe he had more than one and hadn’t realized it.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, wrapping Dean’s back with his arms. “Are you there?”

Dean chuckled, he was thinking about all the things he hadn't given much thought before.

“Yeah, yeah…” he answered, absent minded, “Cas?”

“What?” Cas was kissing down Dean’s upper back, scraping the skin with his teeth at times.

“Nothing.” He blinked feeling sleepy. Then he recalled a thing Castiel had told him some time ago. He rolled around on the bed, facing Cas now. “Do you know that birthmark?” Dean’s eyes lowered to Cas chest, his index finger following, reaching to Cas’ collarbone.

“Your lines?”

“No, no,” Dean shook his head, looking up for an instance, “I mean the brown form, in form of an ‘o’”

Castiel frowned, trying to glimpse down his chest:

“What is it?”

Dean licked his lips, he knew Cas was still resistant to the idea:

“Are you sure it doesn’t mean another soulmate--?”

“No,” Cas interrupted, getting serious and stilling. He was indeed resistant, and still. “There’s nothing that leads me to think that. Actually, I feel complete with you.”

“I know, Cas.”

“Dean, please,” Castiel shook his head, “We don’t need more questions.”

“Come on, Cas…”

Cas shook his head, cupping Dean’s cheeks. He kissed Dean, letting the kiss last for a minute or so and pulled away.

“Go to sleep, Dean, we need to go back tomorrow morning.”

Dean sighed and nodded. Castiel wasn’t wrong. They needed this time and the rest it gave them to get back to the battlefield. Combat was already exhausting enough when it happened everyday with no day for a pause to rest and enjoy themselves, an intake of breath even.

“Ok,” he closed his eyes and leaned onto Cas’ shoulder, not really taking the idea out of his head for all.

 

-

  
  
No, war wasn’t easy at all and the moments he had with Castiel in free passes were rare. Actually, most days, if not almost all days, Dean had to deal with a new death, a new brother lying down beside him, spread across the ground like a rag doll and covered in dirty and earth, without anything like a heartbeat or the intake of breath and their eyes staring up to the nothing. Just like that, all of a sudden, the boys beside him – mostly replacements – were thrown back by the force of a bullet and their bodies went back to the ground like trash, wrinkled around themselves.  
  
Dean had never been prepared for this, none of them had. It was in horror that he realized bit by bit that it wouldn’t change, not for the time being. He saw friends, boys the age of Sam dying the same day Dean met them. He saw Benny, a closer friend, die when his throat was ripped opened by shrapnel from a bomb. He watched in horror his hand was covered with dark blood and his fingers, deep in Benny’s throat, showing a nearly endless cavity in the guy’s neck.

War was hell, indeed. There was barely hope to get back home intact or alive, less than this to have your brothers in Army alive by your side when you get back (if you would ever, even in a corpse form and it was horrifying enough).

At least, they had each other was what he thought every night, listening to the bombs in a foxhole in the middle of a what used to be an avenue that was the way to a main street in a medium size city and holding his own hands, he prayed for the first time in years to not be exploded just now, or Castiel who wasn’t there. Cas was always trying to make himself useful, even under the worst circumstances. Sometimes Dean smiled, wondering why Cas was an Officer when he acted like a Doc.

He hoped Sam was having a nice life, too, although he missed him and asked himself if there was a small possibility that Sam missed him as much. The exactly date Dean was shipped to England, Sam hadn't showed up on the pier or if he had, Dean hadn't seen him.

Dad had shown up instead, and he didn't comment about Sam’s disappearance from their lives. Instead, John said he was really proud of his son going up to war to defend their country and freedom.

Dean nodded, looking down. He was glad for being a reason for pride to his dad, but he was sad because Sam hadn’t come to say goodbye, maybe the last they would say anything face to face to each other.

Now though, at enemy territory, as if paying an old promise, Sam’s first letter arrived to Dean a couple of months after the war had started. Dean had the same, all creased and folded now, letter into his hands as he stared at the darkness of the sky, filled with white sparkles whenever a bomb made its way across the dark territory up there. The sounds were terrible, but he was singing a song inside his head, his lips barely moving.

The letter said:

Dear Dean,

Dean had already had the content in his head by heart.

I can only hope you can get something out of this. I know my former reaction wasn’t the best one but your idea to do that of going to war was, no, it is still bad.

Dean chuckled huskily, closing his eyes for a moment.

You know we didn’t need it, but I won’t talk about it at length now. I hope you can keep yourself and your men safe.

With love,  
Sam

Something exploded closer to him and Dean lifted his eyes up the border of the foxhole, a body was shove inside his foxhole. He raised his rifle, looking back at the shadow with wide eyes. He caught Cas’ white and shiny grin and sighed.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas,” Dean sighed, heavily, putting his M1 back to his side.

“Always ready, huh?” Cas still smiled, but sighed as his breath seemed to slow down.

“Of fucking course, don’t you think?” Dean’s eyes widened for a moment, in sarcasm.

Cas chuckled, looking outside. Holland was burning to hell.

“Some good news?” Dean asked, fishing a cigarette from his pants pockets. He didn’t know if he was more curious or terrified, or even bored.

Cas didn’t say anything and Dean glimpsed him shaking his head. It wasn’t good, especially the swallowing that he did while pressing his lips. A lot of things were getting over his shoulders.

“Alright, so give me the light,” Dean grabbed the light out of Cas’ hands.

Castiel chuckled. Not much longer, Castiel would stop grinning and chuckling like that. Dean would never imagine what would happen to them.

  
  
  
[1945] – Return

  
  
The war ended leaving behind hollow men, invisible holes into those soldiers’ chests. Dean had no idea what to do next. He had no job back at the states, nor had he finished anything beyond high school before coming to Europe. He had no idea what Sam was doing, since few letters came from him and most of them just seemed to dodge the important matters – although they seemed to show Sam’s care for him, despite it being in very subtle lines.  
  
Castiel also took some time before returning. He was the more affected from war and it seemed that he didn’t even start thinking about the life he would suppose start living from then on. He seemed to relive stressful and meaningful moments over and over all the time as the sky started getting darker in the house they shared after the German surrender. Castiel would barely sleep and when he did, he asked Dean to sleep on the other bed or he just slept alone in another part of the building.  
  
The days were better, much better. Daytime and its shining sun, seemed to be a shield against the old shadows that were their war memories.  
  
Eventually Cas walked down the bank where they were settled and went to meet Dean in the lake shore, the one they could see from some balconies up the bank peak.  
  
“I thought you’d never show up,” Dean chuckled huskily, his tanned thighs pushing through the water as he walked slowly in.  
  
Castiel barely smiled, walking around a rock and sitting on the grass before the lake. He took his shoes off and let the feet be washed by the cool water.  
  
Dean watched as Castiel stared at his feet and the waves, dancing over them. He seemed even more lost in his head these days, after the war had ended. He seemed to be still on the battlefield, in the cold foxholes of the Ardennes Forest in Bastogne or in a loud and bloody Holland.  
  
“What are you thinking?” Castiel asked.  
  
Dean looked at him, Castiel stared now at the horizon as if having an internal fight within himself. As if he was trying to suffocate the demons living inside, without letting them resurface whenever Cas could be found and watched. As if they could just crumble by themselves  
  
As Castiel didn’t seem to really want an answer, Dean kept his silence.  
  
Out of the blue, Castiel said, “Let's buy a house in the countryside!”

Dean blinked, that was sudden. They had never really discussed moving in together after they returned home. Most of the time they tried to not think at all about the past and the future because they couldn’t expect much, although dreams kept them going, they felt silly and stupid when they came up to reality again, those ideas gave too much anxiety too.

He looked at Castiel, he seemed dreaming and not at all very much interested on an negative response, or any response whatsoever.

So Dean just gestured with his head dubiously, looking away from Castiel, his attention direct to his thoughts, doubts, fears.

Castiel started humming and Dean let his body float under the water, just his head outside. He just could hope they could figure it all out back home, wherever it would be.

  
-

  
  
The first time Cas and Sam met, Dean was afraid of Sam’s reaction to them in a general sense but Sam was too much in grief for his girlfriend to mind just right now how things should go from there. Sam knew, since the beginning, she wasn’t his soulmate, but living with her had been a balm while Dean fought overseas and Sam tried to find a way to live his life by his own, without depending much on the fact of Dean coming back or not .  
  
He had the lines, both of their lines too as Dean had suspected some months before.  
  
Cas’ one was stupidly romantic “you have beautiful eyes.” Of course, it would be kind of like this. It was just his face, deep down he had these ways.  
  
Sam had reacted very slowly to the compliment. It was probably not so often he received praises, especially not out of a sudden from a grownup man, at the first time they put their eyes on each other.  
  
His answer was barely an “Oh,” after a first glance and a minute staring back at Cas.

Something immediately exploded in Dean’s head when he put his head onto it, a light, a candle of recognition seemed to stir inside his head. It was actually a birthmark, that small light brown form besides his words on Castiel’s collarbone.

Cas seemed to notice something different happening too.

“Oh,” he repeated, “I think--”

Cas breathed deeply and sighed:

“Yeah, I do think so, too.”

Dean felt a mixed of jealousy and relief, as if he feared the words didn’t mean quite that they were all three meant to be together.

“Castiel Novak,” Cas said, offering and shaking Sam’s hand.

Sam nodded:

“Sam Winchester, like Dean,” his lips twisted in an awkward way to show he wasn’t sure if he should smile, if they were good, Dean knew because he felt very much the same and had for a long time.

For the effort, Dean almost smiled, but then he closed his mouth as he remembered how it was their last meeting and how Sam was childish and immature towards him. He felt like his pride should have at least that moment.

They greeted each other and walked down the train station, in silence. They shared a silence which tasted to awkwardness and guilty, besides longing and regret for Dean who remembered very well how things had gone before, when Dean and Sam didn’t know Cas and they barely looked at each other like before, for what they had been doing together.

Dean felt cringe at the movement and the odd sounds to his ears, his skin was filled with goosebumps, so cold his body seemed to get by the uneasiness.

He looked up at Cas and saw the same cringeness. They were still very much out of that present, Sam’s present.  
  
Sam had informed them in the way to a diner he had been in some kind of state job while Dean and Cas fought overseas. The boy had always been too intelligent but at the same time too protected to be sent to war, to the raw reality of war.

He seemed to try to get them back, their relationship back as before or friendly as it should be between brothers, brothers who loved each other brotherly and beyond.

Dean was happy for it and for Cas, too.

  
  
[1950] – Settled down

  
  
Of course it took ages for them all to talk to each other about their marks, to try to make it work some way. Fights, arguments, miscommunications and separations happened over and over around the years before they could stop to reflect about themselves, their own individual lives, their love interests, their dreams after the war had ended. Consider their feelings and dreams in a mature way, after they had a second chance, in the case of Sam and Dean, to try to work out their differences, talk out their fears and insecurities.  
  
Also, Sam was a lot more bothered about loving his brother (and Castiel, another man) in that way than Dean was in the end of the war. Dean had seen too many (unbelievable) things in war to be really bothered by a thing like this. Plus, he wasn’t supposed to be blamed for something that was done to him, that he had been born with, was he? He hadn’t chosen to love a brother, as much as he had been loving another man, his superior in the Army, Castiel.  
  
It would probably be a surprise to the others, if they had ever gotten to know about who he was and who he loved, that the supposed traditional, “not queer guy”, the malest male man ended up having the less hard time to get used to know more about himself than he could ever hoped for. That shame was an old emotion that he barely had the energy or care to feel while around the people he most loved in the world.  
  
Of course, it wasn’t all that easy for Dean to accept the whole thing for a long and harsh time. Although it was proved by science, that there were cases of same sex soulmates, that they were as natural as heterosexual ones, there was this mind settling that if you couldn’t produce kids - if you didn’t contribute to society in that way - you were doing life wrong. On the other hand, it didn't sound a good enough reason to see himself badly, since if society didn’t give a damn about them and wished they were dead, why should they give any damn back to society? The problem was that bringing up lingered on the back of anyone’s head and it bothered him for a long time before .  
  
When they did meet again, properly, it was a very bright gold afternoon. Summer was on the sight and on the tan of Dean's legs, besides on the blush on Cas pale skin, although not as much as in the feel when the temperature seemed to be lowering each time the sun seemed to drift across the sky as the sunbeams did as well, being very refreshing to their former burning hot skin.  
  
Dean and Cas had made a house of their own in a different place from the original Winchesters' place. A place for them only, the new family they were. Dean was also both scared to come back home and face dad, although desperate for his approval, for all that he had endured in war, but John wasn't in Kansas, either, so it all gave him time to get courage to face the things and people he let behind and stay away from loud and agitated places that seemed to trigger all too much bad memories.  
  
The place was on the East coast, far away from the city, a good place which allowed them to breathe and find calmness for them to try to come back to live like civilians, like the others, the ones that didn’t go to war and didn’t experience the horrible things they had witnessed first hand.  
  
Both of them still had nightmares because of the war. Sometimes Cas would sit outside in the middle of the night and slowly break down, crying in silence until he had no strength to cry more, or in any way fight his nightmares, and so he came back to bed, crawling slowly to the mattress as if grasping the sheets, he was grasping for the will to live.  
  
They had no idea if they’d ever make it together, all of them. Sam was such a distant...person. But destiny was, had always been indeed, a tricky and capricious thing. It seemed that they were supposed to be together, that was their fate after all and nothing or few things could change it.

When Castiel lifted his eyes after listening to something rustling the green grass, he found with his eyes something, or better, someone he never thought would look for them.  
  
“Sam,” Castiel called, getting up from his seat.  
  
Dean looked up from his beer to the tall framing walking to him.  
  
Sam had a small smile on his lips and mail bag, satchel sitting on his hips, hanging from his wide shoulders. He seemed tired, older. Not exactly like they had been after the war, but older than Dean had ever seen Sam.  
  
“Sammy?” Dean repeated, in his own way.  
  
“Yeah, Dean, it’s me,” Sam answered softly, looking from one to the other.  
  
Castiel looked at Dean a little startled, not knowing how to react to the sudden visit.  
  
“Welcome back?” Sam finally said, breaking the ice or trying to.  
  
Castiel nodded at that, then, his lips opening a bit in a smile.  
  
“Welcome back, Sam,” he tipped with his head.  
  
But Sam shook his head, with a tiny smile and were forward to hug Castiel in a tight embrace.  
  
Cas shook a bit but he seemed to feel comfort there after a while. Dean didn’t know what to do. He was still very much in shock to all of that what was happening.  
  
“You too, Dean,” Sam said, pulling away from Castiel and hugging Dean.  
  
Slowly Dean fell onto the embrace and also hugged Sam, taking his brother into his arms for the first time in years.  
  
In some ways, this embrace was particularly melancholy, if Dean could remember the word without some kind of sarcasm. It had been a long time and many words for being said before they met again.  
  
“Welcome to our palace, then,” Dean said, in a tentative ice-breaker. His skin felt as if it was built to protect him from everything he had been trying to ignore for all those years.  
  
Sam nodded, letting a small smile escape his lips for Dean’s effort.

It would take a lot to make things better, he was sure of that. Many things should be talked out, but they survived a war. They had time, they wouldn’t just survive war to die just after.

“Stay,” Dean said, slowly reaching out for Sam’s shoulder, hesitantly but showing the intention, “let’s have dinner.”

Sam seemed to consider, nodding a bit. He looked at Cas, they both did. Cas shrugged softly with a twist of lips, he didn’t mind. Dean thought he didn’t mind at all. They were all soulmates.

Dean looked back at Sam.

“Sure,” Sam said, reaching out himself to Dean. He looked as if...Dean felt like he knew what Sam had in mind, that they needed to talk and they could do it.

 

-

 

During dinner, Sam talked a bit about his job, his life in general while Dean and Castiel were on war in Europe. How Sam was dating a girl for a long time and they were even planning to maybe marry soon, although they both knew they weren’t meant to each other, but they made each other feel good and safe anyway. She had died, though, in a car accident just like Mary had died. Dean didn’t like to remember it, but he knew he had done his share after the war to know that he was punished enough for everything he could have done or not.  
  
After dinner, Dean and Castiel presented their place with a long-forgotten enthusiasm they didn’t even know they still had. Having Sam around, someone that hadn’t really been at war felt like a softer way to transition to civilian life, especially when Sam had kind of understood how things had changed for them, or at least he understood that they couldn’t pass through war, having friends dying in horrible ways in front of their eyes, under their palms without changing in some drastic way.  
  
Dean showed Sam his medals and his uniform. He had showed him some pictures too, from the camp they had trained and the friends they had made when he was there. He even pointed the ones dead, although it hurt to remember.  
  
He tried to ignore - because it also hurt him - that Castiel mostly ignored the comments or tried to. The transition was still going harder and more visibly on him than on Dean, who superficially seemed to be proud enough to not feel that bad.

They were at neutral territory most of the visit until Cas decided to make his peace and talk about it:  
  
“Sam, you don’t need to—“  
  
“Yeah, Sammy, I don’t know if—“ Dean said together with Cas. He didn’t want Sam to feel obligated to be part of them if he didn’t want it.

However, Sam just rolled his eyes, gesturing with his hands for them to stop talking and listening to him.  
  
“Can you, guys, stop?” Sam asked between amused and annoyed, “I want to…to see how it could work, if we can work it out.”

“Are you sure about it?” Cas said, looking down for a moment. “We aren’t...the same and, you don’t need to take all we’ve through.”

Sam shook his head.

“I get it, guys,” he smiled to them, “I know it’s...different for you, but I missed you.” He was looking at both of them, even when Cas and Sam had a very small time knowing each other.

Maybe it was the soulmate thing?  
  
Dean exchanged glances with a little perplexed Castiel.  
  
“Alright,” Dean said a bit reluctant, because he didn’t know how they could work.

Living just the two of them sometimes felt so exhausting, with all the communication problems. On the other hand, Sam was another side of them, the piece that completed their puzzle, who wasn’t as much stuck inside their own heads and memories, and in the war zone as they were.

“Alright,” Dean repeated and he offered his hand to Sam who shook his head and tugged Dean in for a tight hug.

“Jerk,” Sam said, what made Dean smile but he didn’t say ‘bitch’, back. He just felt too tired to do it.

Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder.

“Cas, I’m here for you, too, you know?”

Castiel shrugged shyly, smiling as gingerly. His fingers curled around one of his arms, like a fragile child or animal.

“Please,” Sam said, more serious, pulling away from Dean. “You two are both part of who I am.”

  
  
-

  
It wasn’t perfect, obviously it wasn’t. Sam was supposedly just spending his vacation from work with them – or it was also an excuse, but Dean wouldn’t argue it, not when everything seemed to come to place and Castiel seemed to be happier than ever.  
  
The nightmares still happened, but Sam was more opened to ask if Castiel needed help or just company.  
  
Sam still traveled around for work, but he was back no much longer after he had gone.  
  
It was a slow process, the whole soulmate thing. Bit by bit, like toddlers getting to know the world, Dean and his two lovers started getting to know about each other better, as human beings enough aware of their own feelings, their positions as civilians, soldiers, public employees.

Once Dean caught them talking, actually having a moment while at times talking about amenities.

Sam was helping Cas in the kitchen, settling the table as Cas prepared coffee and baked something to eat along the warm beverage.

Dean could listen from the living room they talking and Sam’s laughter shining up in the middle of quieter words. The laughter led Dean to think of Castiel’s shy smile, both inspirational and sweet expressions, that should come together.

He kept listening to them from the hall, while he crossed it to the kitchen.

“By the way, Cas, I’ve never answered you properly,” said Sam, probably settling the cutlery on the table by the sharp noises.

“About what, Sam?”

Dean could see a bit of them while coming closer, Castiel had his elbows on the sink while Sam was by the kitchen table, settling the cups and plates down, his longer hair covering most of his face.

“That your eyes are also beautiful, even more beautiful.”

Dean could just imagine the blush rising onto Cas’ barely stubbly cheeks, humble as he was, especially in those last months after he had made a major mistake in Belgium which led to men to be killed because he wanted to save as many as he could - and couldn't.

“Thanks,” Cas said quietly.

Slowly, Castiel turned around and Sam went closer as Cas lifted his eyes to Sam’s, Cas looked so fragile under Sam’s strong stature. As slow, Sam leaned to capture Cas’ lips. They both looked so soft, Dean thought, even when they were at some points very different. Sam’s hand was cupping Cas’ cheek while Cas’s hands were over Sam’s shoulders as if supporting himself on Sam.

Dean was at the doorframe when Cas gasped, pulling away to breath.

“Good thing we all get along by now,” Dean commented, smirking, “but to be honest, I should have been invited previously.”

Sam smirked, rolling his eyes his eyes as he turned back to Dean.

“Hello to you, too.”

Dean came closer and gave them both a kiss, leaning onto his brother as he rested his chin on Cas’ shoulder.

“Mhmm, good ol’ coffee.”

Cas smiled, humming in agreement.

“You know what we were talking about just now?” Cas said.

Dean hummed, rubbing his face on Cas’ shoulder.

“Have no idea.”

“Of you,” Sam informed, bending backward to see something in the oven, provably to check if it wasn't burning.

Suddenly Sam had an apple between his teeth as Dean turned to him.

“Me?”

“Yep,” Sam looked over to Dean, “how you kept telling Cas he had another soulmate while he refused to believe in it.”

“Oh, that's true,” Dean smirked, finishing his bottle of beer. “He would say it was nonsense, that he had just one mark and that he felt complete with me.”

Castiel blushed a bit:

“I didn’t want to cause more conflicts, Dean,” Cas commented, lowering his eyes a little, shyly.

“I know,” Dean smiled back at Cas who smiled, too. “And I think something is burning…”

“Shit!” both Cas and Sam said while they ran to the oven with small towels, trying to get a cake pan out of the stove.

“Fuck, guys, we’ll need to eat Sam’s veggies, again?”

Sam threw an ugly glance at Dean.

“Yes,” Cas said, with no humor in his voice, what made Sam laugh out.

“Gosh, gimme some coffee for that, then.”

Fin

 

 


End file.
